Then Lister led them to a Hurricane, with its beautiful single wing, and he began to talk about its engine. He invited them to ask him anything they didn’t know, and a dozen hands shot up. Dash stepped back. After her time at CanCar, she could havetaughtthat class.
At the end of their busy days, Dash usually joined the others in the Hamble common room. The comradery she found there was like nothing she’d ever known. Rude magazine editors might call the girls inept, and disbelieving people might call them spoiled and rich, but the truth was that the ATA-girls were like Dash: impossible to label. They’d come from all over the world—Australia, New Zealand, Poland, Holland, Chile, South Africa, and Canada—for no reason other than a desire to help end the war. Some had flying experience of a year or more, one had been part of an aerobatics team with her husband, and others were starting from scratch. A few had never even driven a car.
Stella, Dash’s friend and roommate, had flown with the ATA for two years already. She was a fountain of sarcastic information. This morning, as they entered the common room at Hamble, Stella tilted her head to the side and gave Dash a wink and a smile.
“I heard what you and the other rookies are doing this morning. You’re gonna love it.”
“Running laps? What?”
“Patience, little one. All I can tell you is the actual exercise is even more fun than the instructor, Jack Reimer. And that’s saying a lot.” She puffed on her cigarette then picked up her chit at the front desk. “While you’re doing that, I’ll be flying a Spitfire to Scotland.”
With a pang of envy, Dash watched her friend head out to the airfield. Every morning, those chits told the pilots what they were flying and where. Every day, Dash got closer to joining Stella and the others, but not today. With a sigh, she filed into the gymnasium behind a dozen new friends, prepared to work hard.
The morning began as the others had, with grueling physical training.Every day they ran laps until some of them lost their breakfasts. They did push-ups, climbed ropes, and learned to somersault by rolling over one shoulder in preparation for jumping out of a plane with a parachute. Dash had no trouble with any of it. She’d do whatever it took to fly, with or without a plane. Whatever it took to get her up in a Spitfire, just like Stella.
“Over here, ladies!”
Wiping the sweat from her eye, Dash and the others jogged to the side of the track and were introduced to former RAF pilot Jack Reimer. He was a sharp-looking Brit. Not Dash’s type, but she could certainly see why Stella liked him.
“I’m here to teach you about parachutes,” Jack told the group. He looked them over then pointed at Dash. “You. Come here, please.”
Dash joined him and faced the class. Beside her, Jack lifted a large grey pack for everyone to see. “This is your parachute. It weighs about fourteen kilos. For those of you living outside of civilization, that is about thirty pounds. We try very hard to keep planes in one piece; however, keeping the pilot intact is always the priority. This is how we do that.”
He turned to Dash with a cocky smile, and she blinked, surprised by the directness of his gaze. He wasn’t even pretending not to be flirting.
“First step is to put the straps on like a coat,” he said, handing it to her. “Here you go.”
Dash almost dropped the pack, and he chuckled. “Heavier than it looks. Try again. That’s it. One arm at a time.”
Yes, yes, you’re strong and handsome, Dash thought facetiously. He stepped in front of her, and Dash frowned down at her chest as he connected her straps in the centre, tight like a corset.
“Would you mind setting your feet apart, please?”
She kept an eye on him as he drew the strap up between her legs then linked it to the right side of her hip. He did the same on the left.
“If you are ever flying without the comfort of an airplane, this is what holds you together.” He pressed a smaller pack against Dash’s stomach then clasped it to the main harness. “This is your reserve chute.”
He moved behind her, his hands curled unnecessarily on her waist. “You feel secure?”
Dash rolled her eyes for the girls, and they hid their smiles behind their hands. “Nice and snug, thanks.”
“Good,” Reimer said. “Now we’ll learn how to use it. Over to the tower, please.”
While the other girls headed off, Reimer blocked Dash. “Interested in dinner sometime?”
What was it with men and dinner? “I appreciate the personalized lesson, sir, but no, thank you. Nothing personal, but I am not at all interested in anything like that.”
Reimer gave her a nod and stepped away. On her way to the tower, Dash smiled to herself. She supposed he’d meant to be slightly intimidating, but she hadn’t been afraid of him. And by holding her own, she’d earned his respect.
The girls initially practiced jumping from the tower with their chute connected to a complicated wiring system overhead. The thrill for Dash came when it was disconnected, and she was on her own, flying with the chute.
“Well done,” Reimer said after she landed, rolling flawlessly over one shoulder and popping up as she’d been taught. “Make sure you keep your feet together.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Feeling confident?”
“Ask me anything,” Dash replied smugly.
